Devastation
by Mcfergeson
Summary: The SVU squad deals with the terrible events of 911
1. Default Chapter

"Devastation" 

Fandom: Law Order: Special Victim's Unit

Spoilers: Takes place on September 11, 2001; before the third-season SVU episodes "Repression" and "Wrath"

Feedback: Yes, please!

Summary: General Plot. The SVU team deals with the tragic events of 9/11

Author's Note: All of the Law Order characters contained in this story are not mine. They are the property of Dick Wolf and Wolf Films. I claim no ownership of the Law Order characters, nor am I making any money off of this story. All people within this story-including the original characters that I have created-are fictional, and any resemblance between them and real people is not intended and is purely coincidental.

**122 Plum Street  
8:44 AM  
Tuesday, September 11, 2001**

Detective Olivia Benson sighed heavily as she got out of the car. She slammed the passenger door shut with far more force than was needed. It was the result of the frustration she felt from the relentless disappointment at not being able to find James Garrison, their prime suspect in a brutal rape. The bitch of it was that she and Elliot had actually spoken to the bastard two days ago at his work. Garrison was a co-worker of Cheryl Rothman, the victim, whom he attacked in her own apartment; he even shared an office with her at their ad agency. They originally spoke with him to get some idea if Cheryl had any enemies-never knowing that he was the very man who had violently raped and beat her to the brink of death. Elliot had tried to assure her that they met with Garrison well before Cheryl woke up in the hospital and was able to identify him as her attacker. But it still stuck in Olivia's craw, especially since by the time they were finally up to speed on what Garrison had done, he had already run to ground. Now they were playing catch up, trying to track Garrison's whereabouts by checking in with a former girlfriend of his who resided here on Plum Street.

Elliot Stabler got out of the driver's side of the car and put on a pair of sunglasses and his suit jacket. Despite the fact that it was September, it promised to be another warm, sunny day today. Olivia briefly gazed at the Twin Towers, which both gleamed in the morning sunlight roughly a mile to the South in lower Manhattan. Elliot gave the apartment building they had parked in front of a suspicious look and said, "I really hope she's home."

"She said she was expecting us when I just called her," Olivia replied, as she strolled around the front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. "So there's no reason for her to be out."

Elliot smiled tightly. "Yeah, well, it remains to be seen if…" He abruptly did a double take as he stared at something over Olivia's shoulder. Pointing up at the sky, he shouted, "Liv, look!"

Olivia heard it before she saw it: a low rumbling sound that cut through the city noise. She spun around and glanced up at the sky just in time to see a giant commercial passenger jet-it looked like a 757-streaking over the rooftops of Manhattan. Seeing planes in the skies over New York City wasn't unusual; but what was strange was how low this particular plane flew-normally a huge passenger jet of that size flew high enough above the city that it was barely noticed. But this one was so near to the ground that Olivia could even make out the windows. She watched as it soared south, banked to its left slightly—

—and then slammed right into the North Tower of the World Trade center.

Olivia took a step backwards as she let out a sharp gasp. Elliot, who stood next to her, removed his sunglasses and blinked in disbelief at the sight of the massive fireball that arose from the tower. The entire bizarre scene had been oddly silent, until a few seconds later, when they heard the explosion.

"Oh my God, Elliot," Olivia said softly, as she watched a column of black smoke emit from the tower. All she could think about were the poor souls who were aboard that plane, as well as those in the tower.

Both detectives were so enraptured by the scene that they never noticed the young woman who stood next to them until she spoke. "Did the building blow up?"

"No," Elliot replied. "A plane flew right into it."

The woman whispered a curse under her breath as she shook her head.

"Just like the Empire State Building," Olivia said. She recalled watching old news footage of a military plane that crashed into the Empire State Building back in the 1940s. But the damage shown in those old films were nowhere near as horrendous as this present day scene.

"Another plane crashed into the Empire State Building, too?" the woman asked anxiously.

"No, I'm referring to what occurred back in the '40s," Olivia assured her. "A bomber plane crashed into the Empire State Building by accident back then."

"And now the same thing has just happened to the Trade Center Towers," Elliot said grimly.

Olivia gave the young woman a second glance when she realized that her voice had sounded familiar. The woman was in her early twenties, and casually dressed in jeans with a faded blue t-shirt. Olivia gestured at the apartment building behind them and asked, "Excuse me, is this where you live?"

"Yes," the woman said, still staring in shock at the smoking World Trade Center tower. "I was waiting for company in the foyer of my building when I heard what sounded like an explosion. So I came out to see what it was."

Olivia and Elliot exchanged a knowing glance. "Are you Margaret Gabon?"

The woman nodded, then her face lit up with recognition when she stared at Olivia. "Oh, you're the cop I spoke to on the phone, right? Detective Benson?"

"Yes. This is my partner, Detective Elliot Stabler. As I've stated on the phone, we'd like to talk to you about your ex-boyfriend, James Garrison. Could we talk inside?"

Margaret appeared reluctant to tear herself away from the extraordinary scene that was in progress downtown, and Olivia honestly couldn't blame her. It was taking every ounce of her professional reserve just to stay focused on the job at hand in light of this horrible disaster.

Elliot gestured at the doorway to the apartment building and said, "Shall we? We won't be long. We just have a few questions."

With a last look at the burning office building, Margaret turned and walked back inside the building. Olivia followed, until she was startled by the sounds of sirens in the distance. She glanced down the street and saw several fire engines speeding away, heading south-towards the disaster.

Olivia's heart sank when she stared at the burning building once more. The tower now looked like a giant smoke stack, with a huge black mass of smoke billowing up into the morning sky.

'Those poor souls,' Olivia thought with sadness. She took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh to help fight off the urge to cry.

"Olivia?" It was Elliot. He and Margaret stood waiting for her on the steps of the apartment building.

"Sorry," Olivia said, as she came over and joined them. Elliot held the door open for her.

With a last, somber glance at the burning building, Elliot muttered: "Given the circumstances, Liv, it's perfectly understandable."


	2. Chatting with Margaret

**Margaret Gabon's Apartment  
9:04 AM  
September 11, 2001**

The kitchen they were in was so narrow and cramped that Elliot felt more like he was in the galley of a sailboat. He leaned up against the counter while Olivia sat with Margaret at the small table. Margaret kept looking between them and at the 13 inch TV set that sat on the counter. It was tuned to coverage of the Trade Center disaster. Normally, Elliot didn't like having the TV set on while conducting an interview-it served as a distraction-but today had started out to be anything but normal. He and Olivia did insist that Margaret mute the sound, however.

Just as Elliot had initially suspected, this lead was turning out to be a dead end. Margaret had stated that she had not seen or heard from James Garrison since they broke up about two years ago. His gut instinct told him that the young woman was sincere in her assertion that she had little information to offer about Garrison. But rather than abruptly end the interview, Elliot wanted to make sure they had covered all the bases. He closed his notebook and gave Olivia an expectant look.

Olivia shot him just the slightest nod, and then she leaned forward in her seat. "Margaret, you said when you were with James, he was never abusive with you, right?"

"That's correct," Margaret replied.

"Not even verbally?"

Margaret shook her head. "If anything, he ignored me. He went out almost every night, leaving me at home by myself. I got the feeling he wanted me around just to pay the bills and keep house for him. That was ultimately why I left him. I got tired of being ignored."

'There's a good chance that Garrison may have raped before,' Elliot thought. It wasn't unusual for a hump like that to hook up with a woman who provided a stable home base, which enabled him to go out and prey on other women. In the past, he and Olivia had arrested rapists who turned out to be married with kids. Their families never even knew their husband/father's dark side until they had been arrested.

Elliot's musings were shattered when Margaret leapt up in her seat and let out a horrified cry. She stared at the little 13 inch TV-as did Olivia, who also gazed in wide-eyed shock at something on the screen. As Elliot came around to where the women sat, Margaret turned the sound back on with the remote.

"This is just stunning," the news announcer muttered. "Uh, repeating the latest development: a second plane has struck the World Trade Center! The north tower, as well as the south tower, is now ablaze! This is…" The announcer, seemingly at a lost for words, could only shake his head in disbelief. He pressed a hand to one ear and said, "Um, ok, let's get back to Steve, who is live at the World Trade Center right now. Steve, can you hear me?"

It took a lot to disturb Elliot Stabler. With a hitch in the Marines, and now serving as a detective for the Manhattan branch of the NYPD's Special Victim's Unit, he had seen plenty of the nasty side of the world. But as he watched the horrendous sight on the little TV of large clouds of black smoke spewing forth from both Twin Towers into the clear blue sky, Elliot felt his stomach tighten up into a hard little knot. His first thought was: 'this was not an accident. Those planes were deliberately flown straight into the Twin Towers.' His second thought was: 'are Kathy and the kids all right?'

"What the hell is going on?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know, Ms. Gabon," Elliot said quietly. "But no matter what happens, I strongly suggest you stay indoors today."

Olivia got up from her chair, turned to Margaret and said, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Gabon. If we need anything else, we'll call you."

But Margaret merely nodded absently as she continued to stare in amazement at her little TV set. Elliot doubted she even noticed when they had left the apartment.

Once they were outside, the first thing Elliot saw was the large crowd of people who stood in the street, all facing south, staring at the World Trade Center. Several drivers had even pulled their cars over so they could get out and stare at the disaster. The tops of the Twin Towers had ended in a large column of black smoke that cut a swath through the clear, sunny skies. If Elliot didn't see it with is own eyes, he never would have believed it.

"Elliot, whatis happeninghere?" Olivia whispered.

"An attack." Elliot had blurted out those words before he even realized it. But, deep down, he knew that they were the truth. When Olivia gave him a sharp look of disbelief, he added, "Think about it: one plane hitting those buildings, yeah, that's a horrible accident. But two planes hitting the same buildings within…what was it? Fifteen minutes of each other? This was deliberate, Liv."

Olivia grew very pale at that. It appeared as if she wanted to say something, perhaps a denial, yet she couldn't find the words. Instead she just shook her head in incredulity.

He dug out his cell phone and hit the auto-dial button for home.

"Who are you calling?" Olivia asked. "Kathy?"

"Yeah, I just want to…" Elliot was surprised when his cell phone screen announced that all calling services were not available at the present time.

When he told Olivia what happened, she pulled out her own cell and tried to call their commanding officer, Captain Donald Cragen—but she got the same response, her cell was also unavailable.

"This is crazy!" Olivia glared at her useless cell as if it had intentionally betrayed her. "We're in the middle of New York City, how can both of our cell phone services be down!"

Elliot gently grabbed her arm. "Easy, Liv…."

She angrily pulled her arm out of his grasp. "You don't know for sure that this is an attack, all right?"

"Ok, ok," Elliot quickly conceded, holding his hands up. His partner was just as badly scared of this situation as he was, and Elliot thought it was best to give in for now. But he still felt that what happened to the World Trade Center was an attack. He somehow hoped he was wrong, but Elliot's gut instinct told him otherwise, and it rarely failed him. "Let's call it a day and head back to the One-Six right now, all right? We should know more by then."

"Fine," Olivia said curtly. She got into the car. As Elliot opened the driver's side door, he noticed an elderly Hispanic woman across the street. Staring despondently at the World Trade Center disaster, the old woman had closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross.

"Amen, lady," Elliot whispered, as he got into the car.


	3. The One Six

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them. Please keep 'em coming.

**Special Victim's Unit Squad Room, 16th Precinct  
9:57 AM  
Tuesday, September 11, 2001**

Detective John Munch was busy getting another cup of coffee when he heard his partner, Odafin "Fin" Tutuloa shout, "Oh man! They got the Pentagon!"

Like most of the detectives in the SVU squad room, Munch had been huddled in front of the TV set, watching the World Trade Center disaster unfold in utter horror. He needed a break from the nightmarish images of the flaming towers, so he went for a refill of coffee, only to find there was no more. He actually didn't mind brewing another pot; Munch discovered that he needed to do something normal, something mundane, during this bizarre morning when the entire world appeared to be tearing itself apart.

But Fin's comment brought Munch right back over to the TV, where he saw an image of an erupting volcano that discharged a tall column of black smoke. But upon closer examination, Munch realized that what he thought was an active volcano was in fact the Pentagon. One section of its fabled five sides had been completely blown away.

"What happened?" he asked his partner.

"Another plane struck it," Fin said solemnly. "A third Kamikaze plane!"

A conspiracy buff since as far back as he could remember, John Munch considered the Pentagon to be the root of all the evils in the world—aside from mega-corporations, the CIA and the Olsen Twins. And yet here it was: the Pentagon, the great monolithic complex of fear, the den of shadows itself, was now ablaze. And all Munch felt now was pity: for those in the plane, as well as for those who perished within the building itself.

"This is insane," Munch said softly.

"I hear that," Fin agreed. "I wish somebody would wake me up from this nightmare."

"Just don't ask me to pinch you," Munch said, deadpan.

Fin shot his partner an irritated look. "I'm outta here."

"If you're offended by my witty repartee," Munch said, "then I apologize. There's no need to—"

"Nah, it's not that," Fin said with a shake of his head. He glanced at his watch. "I gotta be somewhere, right now. It's personal. Talk to you later, man."

"Yeah, see you," Munch said.

As Finn raced out of the squad room, Munch stared after his partner with concern. He didn't think Finn knew anybody who worked in the Towers—yet Finn so rarely spoke of his personal life that it was hard to say. While Munch respected the fact that his partner wanted to keep his private life separate from the daily horrors that they dealt with, that also made it pretty hard to get a handle on Fin Tutuloa.

Munch glanced around the squad room and saw that he was presently the only one here. It was a bit creepy to see the SVU squad room so quiet and empty during a weekday. The phones weren't even ringing off the hook like they usually did. 'Regular crime has taken a holiday,' Munch realized. 'It's been overshadowed by this new and monumental horror that struck New York City.'

The TV set broke the silence, which kept babbling about the trio of plane crashes here and in Washington. The media was now calling this an attack on America, and two talking heads on the TV wondered who could be behind these well-coordinated attacks.

Letting out a dismayed sigh, Munch went over to the office of Captain Cragen and knocked on the door. He frowned when there was no answer. The blinds in the windows were shut, and Cragen usually didn't leave the office door closed when he wasn't inside. Munch knocked again, and when there still wasn't any answer, he opened the door and peered inside.

Donald Cragen was at his desk, watching his personal TV with a weary, saddened expression on his face. A reformedalcoholic, Cragen sat fingering an unopened bottle of Scotch in his hands. He kept the bottle in his desk and would often take it out at times of crisis, or when he was stressed out, and battling the urge to drink. He would never drink from it. He took it out just to hold it; this act always seemed to quell the demons within who urged him to drink. The Captain appeared to have been truly overwhelmed by the events of this morning.

'Oh dear God,' Munch thought, as he realized why this attack was hitting the Captain much harder than everyone else. Cragen's wife, Marge, was a stewardess who died in a plane crash several years ago. The terrible events of today, with passenger planes dropping out of the sky across the eastern seaboard, must have hit him especially hard.

Munch walked up to the desk and quietly said, "Don."

Cragen finally noticed him. "Hey, John," he said, his voice deep with emotion. He glanced down at the bottle of booze with distaste and placed it back within a drawer of his desk. "Something I can do for you?"

"Actually, Don, I was wondering if there was something you needed," Munch said. "How are you holding up?"

"Not too good," Cragen said. "But I guess the same can be said for everybody today."

"Yeah." Munch leaned forward on the front of the desk. "Look, Don, you know that if you need anything, anything at all…"

Cragen nodded. "I know, John. And I appreciate it. But I'll be fine, really." He glanced out the doorway when he heard Olivia and Elliot's voices in the squad room. "Sounds like the kids are back."

"Fin had to leave," Munch told him. "He said it was personal."

"I understand," Cragen said. "You can leave, too, if you want to."

Munch gestured at his chest. "Me? Where the hell am I gonna go?"

Cragen glanced back at the horrible images being shown on the TV. "The usual business has been postponed for today. It may be postponed for a while. So if you want to go, I'll understand."

Cragen sounded like he was slipping back into his depression again. Not knowing what to say, Munch only nodded. Feeling awkward at just standing there, he excused himself and went back outside to the squad room. Olivia and Elliot were standing in front of the TV, grimly watching the burning Towers.

Munch stood beside Olivia and said, "Some sight, huh."

"That's putting it mildly," Olivia muttered grimly.

"Yeah, well, a third plane just struck the Pentagon," Munch told them.

Both Benson and Stabler appeared ashen at that news. Olivia turned to Elliot and said softly: "You were right."

"I wish to God I wasn't," Elliot said. When the phone on his desk rang, he ran over to answer it.

"He was right about what?" Munch asked Olivia.

"Nothing." She stared dismally at images of the burning Pentagon on the TV. "Have they said who is behind all of this?"

"There's just speculation," Munch replied. "All planes, all over the country, have been grounded."

Olivia abruptly glanced at Cragen's office with alarm. "How's the Captain taking this?"

"Not well. You know about his wife?"

"Yeah," Olivia said with a sorrowful gaze at Cragen's office door. "I'm gonna go talk with him. See if he's all right."

"Kathy!" Elliot said into the phone. "It's great to hear your voice, too! Yeah. The cell phones are down. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm back at the precinct. Liv's with me. Really? Yeah, that's fine—no, hon, considering what's going on, you were absolutely right."

"What happened?" Munch asked, concerned.

"Kath took the kids out of school," Elliot replied. Then he sat down at his desk and resumed the conversation on the phone with his wife more privately.

"OHMIGOD!" Olivia cried out from the Captain's office.

Fearing the worst, Munch ran back into Cragen's office, only to see Olivia and Cragen staring in horror at the TV set. When Munch came over to Olivia, she grabbed him and said, "It's falling! The Tower is falling!"

Munch stared at the TV just in time to see the TV reporter and the camera crew running for their lives through the streets of lower Manhattan. The cameraman still did his level best to hold the image of the South Tower, which collapsed onto the streets below in a massive cloud of smoke and debris. Munch felt a sick sensation building up in his stomach. Olivia held on tightly to his arm. Yet Munch wasn't sure who was supporting whom, for he felt pretty weak in the knees right about now.

Olivia let out a gasp. "Oh God, Alex…we haven't heard from her! Has anybody heard from her!"

Munch was about to comfort Olivia by saying that Alex Cabot was probably fine. Yet when he caught another look at the devastation that rained down on the streets of lower Manhattan, he stopped himself.

On an insane day like today, hope was being stretched pretty thin, and Munch didn't want to break it altogether by uttering platitudes that might turn out to be false.

'Be safe, Alex,' he thought. 'Wherever you are, just be safe.'


	4. Death Of A Landmark

Author's Note: Thanks much for the reviews. I love the feedback! Please keep 'em coming.

**John Street  
9:59 AM  
Tuesday, September 11, 2001**

Assistant District Attorney Alex Cabot stared up at the World Trade Center with a mixture of fascination and complete horror. She had been in court for jury selection for a case when the judge, receiving word of the first plane striking the North Tower, postponed the proceedings by calling for an immediate recess. Alex had come as close as she could to watch the tragedy with her own eyes, and was stunned to see a second plane strike the South Tower. For almost an hour, she stood with a crowd of observers from the courts, as well as hundreds of other observers, completely dazed at the sight before her. Then a horrible thought occurred to her: 'what if they fell? What if the Twin Towers, each so badly weakened by these plane strikes, crumbled to the ground? And here we were standing right underneath them.'

"Alex!"

She turned at the sound of her name being called and saw Senior Assistant District Attorney Jack McCoy heading towards her through the crowd. Abbie Carmichael was with him.

McCoy stared up at the buildings with an expression of total shock on his face. "This is just…just…."

A part of Alex was amused at the thought that, for once, the legendary Jack McCoy—the great pontificator of the courtroom—was at a loss for words. Still, she sympathized with what he was feeling.

"I think they might come down," Alex told him and Abbie.

McCoy nodded. "You're right. The damage looks too severe, they may have to tear them down later, after the fire is out."

"No, Jack," Alex said. "I mean I'm afraid they might fall right now, on us."

But McCoy was not convinced. "You don't know that for sure, Alex."

After an anxious glance at the burning buildings, Abbie said, "You want to wait around and find out if she's right?"

"Point taken," McCoy said solemnly. "Let's get out of here."

Abbie let out a gasp as she pointed skywards. "Oh God, look!"

Alex's eyes grew wide behind her glasses when she saw the top of the South Tower vanish in a huge cloud of smoke and debris. Large chunks of the building began to tumble to the ground, with smoke and ash trailing behind them; they looked like deadly silver and gray comets that streakedtowards the earth. The entire South Tower was crumbling to the ground before her eyes.

"I really hate being right all the time," Alex whispered.

"C'mon!" McCoy grabbed both women by their arms and tried to hustle them across the street. But that idea was cut short by the stampede of people who were all rushing hysterically by. Fear shrunk Alex's stomach into a tiny knot when she saw why: a massive debris cloud, set off from the collapse of the Tower, shot down the artificial canyon of buildings like an enormous gray wave. It was headed right for them.

Alex saw a merchant staring at them from the window of his shop. "Jack, Abbie, in here!"

The three of them raced into the shop and shut the door behind them just as the cloud of dust and debris raced past. Alexnoted that they were in one of those cheap trinket stores that catered to the tourists. Her heart sank when she saw a collection of World Trade Center memorabilia for sale on a shelf.

"Excuse me," the shopkeeper, a small studious man, said. "But if you're not going to buy anything, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to—"

"Are you freaking kidding me!" Abbie snarled at him. "Do you see what's going on out there!"

"No, no, no! I meant stay! Stay!" the shopkeeper nervously said, holding up his hands in surrender. Although he was behind the counter, he still backed away from Abbie's wrath. "By all means, please stay as long as you like!"

Alex was stunned to see that the entire street outside was covered in a murky haze of dust and debris from the fallen Tower. Several people stumbled around in the haze, their hands over their faces. Alex pulled the door open and ran outside. She grabbed the arm of a middle-aged woman and pulled her inside the store. Jack and Abbie did the same with two other people. They kept doing this until the store was packed with dust-covered people who gasped for air, one of whom was a uniformed NYPD patrolman.

At one point, while helping an elderly woman to take a seat on a stool by the counter, Alex began coughing and found that she couldn't stop. Her throat felt as if it was being clawed to pieces by razor blades. Jack made her sit down on the floor with her back against the store counter and asked the shopkeeper to get water for everyone.

"I can't believe this is happening," Alex croaked.

"You'll be all right," Abbie assured her. Her usual raspy voice sounded even more hoarse. She was covered with dust and grime.

"I don't mean me," Alex said, in-between coughs. Accepting a plastic cup of water from the patrolman, she took a few sips. Her throat felt immediately better. "I mean all of this. I still can't believe this is happening. This is New York City, Abbie. But it looks like a war zone! What the hell is happening?"

"You just said it yourself, Alex," Jack told her. "It looks like a war zone out there because it is. Somebody has just declared war on us."

Alex grew somber as she took another sip of water. She thought about Olivia, and her colleagues at the SVU. 'Oh God, I hope everybody's safe!'

**To be continued...**


	5. A hunt through dark places

Author's Note: Once again I would like to thank everybody who was kind enough to take the time to write their reviews about this story. Please keep them coming.

**Special Victim's Unit Squad Room, 16th Precinct  
10:40 AM  
Tuesday, September 11, 2001**

Olivia couldn't watch anymore.

When she saw that the North Tower had collapsed—that both Twin Towers were now down—she left the squad room and went upstairs, where she took a seat on the sofa in the sitting area. She leaned forward and put her face in her hands. Watching all that death and destruction being displayed so casually on the TV had worn her down. Even as a detective, a member of an elite squad within the NYPD, there were many times when Olivia had felt powerless. Yet she never felt so completely helpless in all of her life as she did right now. 'What do we do now?' she wondered despondently. 'How do we move on from this?'

And then there was Alex. Where was she? Olivia had tried making phone calls to her personal cell, as well as to the DA's office, but she could not reach Alex at all. 'The courts are several blocks away from the Towers,' Olivia told herself. 'She said last night that she would be in court all day today. So there was no reason for Alex to be at the Towers. She was probably evacuated from the area along with everybody else. She's fine. She's got to be fine. Please God…please…let Alex be—'

Olivia was startled from her thoughts when she felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. It was Elliot. He sat down next to her and asked, "You ok?"

"No."

"Yeah, stupid question," Elliot admitted with a heavy sigh. "Listen, I'm heading home."

"That's a good idea," Olivia agreed. "Your family needs you right now."

"I'd like for you to come with me," Elliot said quietly.

Olivia blinked at him. "Where? Home with you?"

He nodded. "Cragen has said that everybody can leave now, if we wanted to. And if you don't have anything else to do…well, if nothing else, it's been a while since you've seen the kids."

Olivia groaned inwardly. She always hated it whenever Elliot played the over-protective big brother with her. It wasn't that Olivia didn't appreciate him watching out for her—she did—but Elliot could get a little overbearing at times. Still, after what happened today, she certainly couldn't find fault with him for feeling rattled and wanting to protect her.

"I'll admit that—like everybody else—I'm scared to death at what's going on," Elliot continued. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "If I could, I'd bring everybody in the One-Six home with me. But since you're my partner, I just want to…."

"Elliot," Olivia abruptly said. She placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you for inviting me, and for thinking about me. But, I'm ok. I'm as stunned by all of this as everybody else is, but I can deal with it on my own."

"You sure?" Elliot asked. "It would be no bother; we'd love to have you over."

"I know. Like I've said, I really appreciate you thinking about me, but I'll be fine."

"Ok," Elliot said, as they stood up. "What did you think of my little speech? About bringing everybody in the One-Six home with me?"

"Very sappy," Olivia dryly commented.

"I didn't think my speech was sappy," he said with mock indignation.

"Trust, me, Elliot, it was sappy," Olivia muttered, as they descended the steps to the squad room. "In the future, if we ever need to handle somebody who's suicidal, just let me do the talking, ok?"

"Oh, you are so cruel," he said, grinning broadly.

Olivia couldn't help but crack a small smile as they retrieved their personal items from the lockers. "I'm your partner, I'm supposed to be cruel to you. And, by the way, thanks."

He shrugged. "For what?"

"You know what. For lifting my spirits."

"What are partners for? Just do me a favor and call me when you get home, so I know you're safe."

Olivia stared at him as if he were insane. "My home is closer to here than yours is. Don't get paranoid on me, all right?"

"Take a good look at that," Elliot somberly said, as he pointed at the devastation on the TV. "Just get a good look, and see if you can ask me again if I'm being paranoid."

Olivia didn't have to look at the TV; what she saw right outside the windows of the squad room gave her pause. It was thick, dark gray smoke. This solemn blanket, a constant reminder of the massive slaughter that occurred at the World Trade Center, now covered the skies over New York City. A chill ran up her spine as Olivia wondered if anyone would ever be truly safe ever again.

"On second thought, yeah," Olivia whispered. "I'll call you as soon as I get in."

**Church Street  
12:15 PM  
September 11, 2001**

"God damn," Fin muttered under his breath.

Church Street was a disaster area. The street itself was covered with dust; every one of the parked cars had sustained damage by flying debris, and Fin wasn't sure, but he thought that a large, smashed-up piece of machinery he saw on the sidewalk might have been part of an airplane engine—or what was left of one. The sidewalk beneath the shattered machinery was crushed in from the impact of it landing from above.

As Fin ran further up the street, he noticed dust-covered people clustered into little groups here and there. He went up to each group and carefully examined each face of the men—this was actually hard to do, since many of them were still covered in dust blown from the fallen Towers, the features of their faces were obscured by the layers of caked dust. Still, Fin wasn't giving up. He vowed that he would not rest until he found the specific person he was after.

Fin did a double take when he saw the store sign that read: "Alfie's Electronics".

'This was where he was supposed to be,' Fin thought, as he ran across the street to the store. He cleared the grime-covered window and peered inside. The place looked like it was closed. But had it been closed all morning? Or did it close after the area had been evacuated?

He saw a police cordon at the end of the street manned by several uniformed officers. Making sure his detective badge was in plain sight, Fin pulled out a photo from his wallet as he approached the closest officer. "Detective Tutuloa, Manhattan SVU. I'm looking for this kid. Have you seen him?"

The uniformed cop, who was a sergeant, stared at the photo, and then shook his head. "Haven't seen him, Detective." He gave Fin an incredulous look. "You're looking for a perp in the middle of all this? You panty police are a real dedicated bunch, aren't you?"

"Yeah, right." Fin shook his head in disgust as he walked away from the cordon. He ignored the cop's snide comment and tried to stay focused on his hunt. 'His grandmother said that he was applying for a job at Alfie's,' he thought anxiously. 'All transportation in the area is out, so he's got to be on foot, and if he's on foot, then he still must be in the area. And if he's still in the area, then I should be able to—'

When Fin spun around, he saw a young African-American man in his late teens glaring back at him from across the street. It was the very same young man whom Fin had been hunting for. Like most of the people in the area, the boy was covered in dust, but otherwise, he appeared fine. Fin let out a heavy sigh of relief as he glanced up at the iron gray skies and thought: 'I owe you one, Big Guy.'

"How are you?" Fin asked as he walked over to the boy. "Are you hurt?"

"Who wants to know?" the boy said coldly.

Anger flared up within Fin. "What are you talking about? Everybody at home is worried sick about you!"

"But not you?" the boy asked with heavy sarcasm.

"Of course I'm worried sick about you," Fin said with exasperation. "I'm here, aren't I? Now answer my question: are you all right?"

The boy glanced at the closed electronics store. "Well…it doesn't look like I got the job. But other than that, I'm ok."

Fin stared at him in incomprehension. Then he shook his head as he broke into a grin. "Oh, man…even through all of this, you're still a wise guy, huh? Yeah, you're doing ok."

The boy's hard look softened as he glanced uneasily at the ground. "Hey…Dad…um, thanks. You know...for coming after me like this."

"Don't mention it, kid." Fin's smile faded as he stared up and down the silent, ash-covered street. It was a blood-chilling sight, and he now wanted nothing more than to leave it. "C'mon, let's get the hell out of here."

**To be continued...**


	6. Munch on the loose

**The Streets of Lower Manhattan  
4:30 PM  
September 11, 2001**

When Captain Cragen finally kicked Munch out of the stationhouse, he wandered the streets of Manhattan. The last thing Munch wanted to do was go home. This was a historical, terrible event in the same league as the Kennedy assassination and the attack on Pearl Harbor, and a part of Munch was fascinated as well as horrified by what happened today. Despite the fact he had seen the Towers fall several dozen times on the TV, he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe that the World Trade Center was completely gone. Something that he expected would outlive him had now vanished. Children born after this day would never know the World Trade Center, nor the Twin Towers, except in history books and films.

But what really upset Munch more was the senseless slaughter the destruction of the Towers had caused. The TV kept saying the death toll might rise to several thousand. Munch shook his head at the senselessness of it all. It was still hard to conceive of several thousand dead, and the kind of destruction that you would see in an earthquake, all right here in the heart of Manhattan.

When he strolled past a local hospital, Munch saw there was a long line that snaked out the main entrance. He asked a young woman what was the line for, and she replied, "To give blood."

Munch got on at the end of the line. It took him almost an hour, but he finally got inside and donated blood. It was a good feeling; it felt as if he gave something—no matter how small—back to the city that had suffered so much today.

Upon leaving the hospital, Munch glanced up at the sky and saw the massive plume of smoke that still rose from the smoldering ruins of the World Trade Center. Munch realized that he had an urge to see the site with his own eyes. However, he only got as far as a few blocks away from the devastated area, thanks to a police cordon on Church Street that prevented him from going any further. There were massive mobile construction cranes and dump trucks parked along side the streets, waiting to move in and remove the wreckage and rubble. When he heard a roar in the skies, Munch glanced up and saw a squadron of Blackhawk military helicopters flying in perfect formation over the buildings.

It was so surreal, so bizarre, that Munch needed a quiet place to absorb all of it. When he saw a church on the corner, he thought, 'Perfect!' He was Jewish, yet Munch felt that any house of God would serve as a safe haven on a day like today; he just wanted to sit in the back and get a few peaceful moments for himself, anyway.

Yet when he entered the church, Munch saw that it was a busy, hectic place. There were firefighters, uniformed police officers and other dust-covered rescue workers who received medical attention for minor injuries, massages to relieve sprained muscles, and hot food from the kitchen. At first Munch thought the sanctity of the church had been disrupted—until he realized that this was still a safe haven, a haven for the multitude of angels who worked rescuing people at the disaster site.

An oldAfrican American man in a suit strode up to Munch. "Do you need any help, sir?"

Munch flashed his badge at him and replied, "Actually, I was wondering if you could use some help around here."

The old man smiled as he pointed to the side of the church. "The kitchen. They need plenty of help in the kitchen, and God bless you, sir."

"God bless us all," Munch muttered.

The kitchen was a cramped, chaotic affair with a half dozen women and men preparing and serving food. When Munch entered, a short, squatAfrican Americanwoman in her forties eyed him strangely.

"I'm detective John Munch," he said, showing her his badge. "I was told that you needed help back here. I'd be happy to help out if you need it."

"Welcome, John. I'm Shauna. You wanna help?" She gestured to a bag of flour that was out of her reach on the top shelf. "Can you get that flour for me?"

"Certainly." Munch, who was taller than Shauna, effortlessly grabbed the bag of flour and placed it on the table for her. Some of the flour leaked out of the bag and spilled on his dark suit. He started to remove his suit jacket—until Munch abruptly felt very dizzy. Then the room began to spin.

Gripping the edge of the table for support, Munch gladly accepted a chair that Shauna offered him. "Are you all right, John?" she asked with concern.

"Yeah," Munch replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "This was probably too much exertion right after giving blood."

"You just gave blood!" Shauna said in disbelief. She turned to one of the other women and added, "Louise, get me a glass of water."

"I guess this was a stupid idea," Munch said sheepishly as he accepted the glass of water from her. He drank it in one gulp. "It's just that I felt so…helpless. Such a terrible thing has happened today, and I just want to contribute…somehow…."

Shauna leaned in close and said, "You gave blood, and you just helped me so I can feed these hungry firefighters. I'd say you've done enough good deeds for one day, John. Go home, honey."

As soon as he got his bearings, Munch got up from the chair. He nodded towards Shauna. "Thanks."

"You're a hero in my book, John!" she called after him. "God bless!"

Munch walked back out into the street and saw a group of dust-covered rescue workers ambling towards the church entrance. They appeared bone-weary, exhausted—yet were still determined not to let the dreadful circumstances in which they worked get them down.

'I'm no hero,' Munch thought, watching the men enter the church. 'They're the heroes.'

After he fixed his suit jacket, Munch headed back up the street, towards his home.

**To be continued...**


	7. Getting to Alex

**Olivia Benson's Apartment  
7:55 PM  
Tuesday, September 11, 2001**

Olivia sat watching images of 7 World Trade Center as it collapsed into a huge pile of rubble, due to structural weakness caused by the destruction of the Twin Towers. The second tallest building of the World Trade Center complex—next to the late Twin Towers themselves—7 World Trade Center did not fall until about 5:25 pm, almost seven hours after the North Tower fell. Watching the prerecorded image of the building as it fell, and ignoring the jabbering news anchormen giving blow-by-blow details of its destruction, Olivia recalled that she and Elliot had once investigated a case there. It turned out to be nothing, just a false lead. But she vividly remembered how professional and courteous the office workers were in helping with their investigation. She fretfully hoped that they had all managed to escape the destruction without harm.

She thought about Alex once more. Olivia was worried sick about her. She kept trying to call Alex all day, and so far, she had received no response. 'That's it,' Olivia thought as she stood up, 'enough of this waiting around. I'm gonna go out and see if I can find her.'

The ringing of the phone startled her. Picking it up after the second ring, she said, "Hello?"

"Olivia?" The voice on the other end sounded low and gravelly. "It's Alex."

Olivia sat back down on the sofa. "Alex! Honey, are you all right?"

"I've had better days." She sounded very despondent. There was a pause. "I was there, Olivia. When the Towers came down, I was there, with Abbie and Jack McCoy."

"Oh, Jesus, Alex," Olivia whispered, stunned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I mean I wasn't injured." Alex hesitated again. "But I really don't feel like being alone right now. Could you come over? Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Great," Alex said with a sigh of relief. "Thanks so much."

"No problem. You want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

"Ok," Olivia said with a chuckle. "See you in twenty."

When she hung up the phone, Olivia felt both relieved and livid at the same time. She was relieved that Alex was all right, and livid at the fact that it sounded like she had suffered badly today. So many people had suffered badly today: those who died, the survivors, as well as the families of the victims. She wished she could do something—anything—to make this overwhelming pain and anguish stop.

Casually clad in jeans with a black tank top, she slipped her bare feet into a pair of running shoes and threw on a light blue shirt that she left unbuttoned. The shirt was more to hide the gun holster on her hip than for warmth. She rode the elevator down to the lobby, nodded a greeting to her doorman, and bounded into the street.

Alex lived within a few blocks of her, so there was no need for a cab. Olivia walked south, towards the World Trade Center site, which the media now referred to as Ground Zero. Night had fallen, and the streets were crowded with people. From the excited chatter that she overheard, Olivia realized that many of them were afraid to spend the night in their high-rises; for fear that it might be struck by another plane. Fear was rampant on the streets tonight; it was so palpable that the air felt heavy with it.

Olivia kept walking. The exercise, the constant motion, felt good to her. She had crossed an intersection that had a soldier in full combat gear directing traffic. As she walked, Olivia's thoughts fixated on a woman she knew named Gail Monroe. Gail was a sixty-something year old woman who had been the victim of a rape several years ago. What made the case even worse was the fact that the bastard who raped her was HIV-Positive, and Gail caught the disease from him.

Olivia vividly recalled visiting Gail's hospital room after hearing that she had HIV, and finding the woman calmly sitting up in bed. She had even greeted Olivia with a warm smile. Gail's sunny disposition belied the fact that shereceived HIV from her rapist. Olivia, who had come expecting to offer whatever comfort and aid she could to the elderly woman, was further stunned when Gail expressed motherly concern over the lack of sleep Olivia must be getting while spending so much overtime on her case.

When Olivia had spoken her amazement at Gail's remarkable inner strength, the old woman merely smiled at her said, "Life is for the living, dear. We must go on."

Olivia was startled out of her reverie by a loud noise in the sky, as were several other people who surrounded her. The sound reminded her of American Flight 11, the first airplane that collided with the Towers—a sight that she had witnessed herself just this morning, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. The noise turned out to be a flight of several Army helicopters that flew in close formation over the buildings.

Olivia let out an uneasy sigh. When she went to brush a strand of hair from her face, she realized that her hand had been shaking. She didn't realize just how wound up she had been over this until now.

"It's the end of the world!" a man in the crowd suddenly proclaimed. "It's judgment day, baby!"

The people in the crowd, sensing that the man was either very inebriated, or insane—or both—quickly gave him a wide berth. As the crowd parted, the man, perhaps emboldened by their timid reaction, began to gesture wildly as he spoke even louder. "You can all run, but you can't hide! Because this is the beginning of the apocalypse and all bets are off!"

'I'd better go shut this moron up,' Olivia thought, as she turned towards the man with her professional demeanor in place. But once she got a good look at who the man was, Olivia's game face quickly vanished as she stared at him in gaping shock.

"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered to no one in particular.

He wore a dark running suit with a baseball cap, and now hadseveral days' growth of beard on his face. But Olivia still recognized him. She had spoken to him only a few days ago in his office, when he smugly denied knowing anything about Cheryl Rothman's savage rape.

James Garrison, the prime suspect in the Rothman rape case, now stood right in front of Olivia.

**To be continued...**


	8. Confrontation, and promises made and kep...

Her hand pulled the nine-millimeter out of its holster and aimed it at the man before Olivia even knew she had done it. Taking a deep breath, Olivia shouted, "James Garrison! Police! Get on the ground, now!"

Garrison turned to face her, and he gave her a lop-sided smile. His eyes were glassy, unfocused; he might have been standing here physically, but mentally, he appeared to be in a completely different world.

'He's high,' Olivia realized with dread. And what made it even worse was that he kept his right hand buried in the pocket of his running jacket. The pocket looked large enough to contain a knife or a small gun.

"Well, well, well," Garrison said, his arrogance intensified by whatever he was cranked up on. "If it ain't Benson, the bitch with the badge…."

"Show me your hands, Garrison!" Olivia ordered. She aimed the gun right at his chest. "Hold up both of your hands right now! Do not make me tell you again!"

Garrison let out an abrupt bark of laughter. "Don't you get it, you dumb bitch? It's the end of the world! It's the apocalypse right now, baby! Chaos reigns supreme! You should be surrendering yourself to me! Kneel down to me now!"

'He's gonna make me shoot him!' Olivia flashed back to a laundry room, a few years ago, where a suspect pulled his gun on Elliot and she shot him. She shot the man dead; he was gone before his body even hit the floor. Her lethal action had saved Elliot's life, and she would have gladly done it again if she had to. But the fact that she had taken a life had always haunted her. And now it appeared she was about to be forced to kill again.

"Garrison, this is your last warning! Put your hands up, NOW! Or else I will be forced to—"

She never finished her threat, for Garrison was struck on the head by a bottle that came flying out of the crowd. The impact knocked him to the ground, where he lay still.

Olivia stared at several men in the crowd who began hooting and hollering wildly. She had been focused on Garrison with such laser intensity that she had almost forgotten the crowd, which had watched her confrontation with Garrison on the sidelines like an audience at a street fair.

Olivia quickly ran over to the prone Garrison, and once she determined that he was no longer a threat, she holstered her gun and pulled out her handcuffs. She rolled him over on his side, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and then rolled him so that he lay flat on his back. When she checked his pockets, she found that he only had a pack of chewing gum. 'The stupid bastard nearly got himself shot over frigging chewing gum!'

"Wha' you doin'?" Garrison mumbled incoherently. "'Tis the apoc-lips, you can't ar-ar-arrest me, you stinking bitchhh…."

The nasty gash on his head caused by the bottle was bleeding badly. She would have to get him to the hospital. Olivia glanced up when a trio of burly looking men stepped out from the crowd. The tallest of the threesome, a man in his early twenties with an eagle tattoo on his arm, proudly pounded his chest with his hand and said, "I did that. I threw the bottle." He turned to the crowd. "Did everybody see that? I helped this lady cop!"

One of his friends, who had a thick beard and wore a bandana on his head, pointed at Garrison and suspiciously asked, "What did he do?"

Olivia stepped back so that Garrison was in front of her—although he was out of action, she still wanted to keep the bastard within her sight—and flashed her badge at the crowd. "NYPD! This man is under arrest! Would everybody please step back and give us some room?"

More than half the people in the crowd did what Olivia asked them. But the other half, including the trio who stood directly in front of her, remained right where they were.

"You didn't answer my question, officer," the bearded man said. He glared at her intently. "I asked you what did he do?"

Olivia didn't like his tone. She didn't like the way this entire thing was going. "Sir, this man is a suspect in an ongoing investigation. That's all I can tell you. Now will you please—?"

"Did he have anything to do with what happened at Ground Zero?" the guy with the eagle tattoo demanded. "We heard him bragging about it!"

"Yeah, I heard it too," another man called out from the crowd. "He said it was the apocalypse! What did he mean by that?"

"I assure you that he had nothing to do with what happened to the World Trade Center," Olivia said. She quickly pulled out her police radio and called in for help. Olivia was alarmed at how harried the dispatch operator sounded. It suddenly occurred to her that this was probably the worst night to be facing an angry mob alone, on the one day when New York City's entire emergency response service had been stretched to the breaking point. Although she was promised assistance ASAP, there was no telling when it would arrive.

"If he had nothing to do with the Trade Center, then why are you arresting him?" the bearded man shouted.

"I already told you," Olivia said. It was a struggle to keep her voice calm, cool, and detached. "Listen to me, everybody please listen: I am a detective with the NYPD Special Victim's Unit. This man is a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Now, if you don't—"

"She's lying!" the eagle tattooed man declared. "He does have something to do with the Trade Center! She just doesn't want us to give him the proper street justice that he deserves!"

This was shaping up to be an even worse situation than Olivia had originally imagined. At first she faced the prospect of shooting James Garrison, and now, barely minutes later, she was fighting to protect him from an angry mob.

The two main rabble-rousers—the bearded man and Mr. Eagle Tattoo—took a few threatening steps towards her, but Olivia stood her ground. Glaring at the both of them, she held her hand on the gun in the holster—but the truth was she really had no intention of pulling her nine on a bunch of civilians. She was hoping to stall them long enough before help arrived. Barring that, if they all chose to rush her, Olivia faced the grim prospect of leaving Garrison to mob justice. Personally, she had no love for Garrison, but the proper forum of justice for him was a court of law.

When she heard the sound of screeching tires in the street behind her, Olivia risked a quick glance over her shoulder and was relieved to see that the Calvary had arrived. An NYPD patrol car, along with a plain sedan with a flashing red emergency light on the dashboard, had pulled up to the scene.

Keeping her eyes on the crowd, Olivia quickly flashed her badge at the two detectives who ran up to her and said, "Detective Benson, SVU! I am arresting this man and could really use your assistance."

"You got it," one of the detectives said. His voice sounded strangely familiar. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you, Liv?"

Olivia was pleasantly surprised to see that it was none other than Detective Lennie Briscoe from the Two-Seven. His partner, Ed Green, began working with the two uniformed officers from the patrol car to disperse the crowd, most of which had already begun to melt into the shadows at this point. A third patrol car pulled up, and two more uniformed officers joined the fray. Olivia called for an ambulance for Garrison via police dispatch.

She filled Lennie and Ed in on the entire situation. "And I want him," she added, pointing right at Mr. Eagle-Tattoo. "He threw the bottle at my suspect, then he helped stir up the crowd along with his friend, the guy with the beard."

Both men were grabbed by the officers, handcuffed, and hauled off to sit by themselves in two police cars. While she waited for the ambulance for Garrison to arrive, Olivia wearily leaned up against one of the patrol cars.

Lennie came over to her. "You ok?"

She nodded. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Lennie."

Ed strolled over to them after consulting with one of the patrolmen. "Careful," he jokingly warned Olivia. "You're gonna give him a swelled head talking like that."

"Hey, it's not often that I hear somebody say something like that to me," Lennie shot back. "So just let me enjoy it, ok?"

Ed pointed a thumb at Lennie and said, "I couldn't get him to leave the precinct at all today. He kept finding these lame excuses to stay."

"I keep telling you it's the safest place to be at a time like this!" Lennie replied in an equally light tone. "But do you listen to me? Of course not." He glanced at Olivia and added, "I may be looking for a new partner soon. Would you be available?"

Their mirthful mood was shattered by yet another low-flying military helicopter that boomed right over their heads. Olivia noted that it was another Blackhawk, with the Red Cross symbol painted on its sides.

"Imagine that, New York City has become a disaster area," Lennie said, as he gazed after the helicopter in the night sky. He shook his head sadly. "Oh, man, it's been a helluva day…."

Both Olivia and Ed nodded in somber agreement. 'Leave it to Lennie to perfectly sum it all up,' Olivia thought.

She rode with Garrison in the ambulance to the hospital. While he was being treated in the ER, Olivia called the One-Six. She wasn't surprised to hear Cragen was still there. He said he would send some uniforms over to help her bring Garrison to the precinct house.

After hanging up with Cragen, Olivia called Alex and explained the delay. Once she heard Olivia's story, Alex said, "I guess its now my turn to ask you if you're ok."

"I'm good," Olivia said. "Listen, I'm really sorry."

"Are you kidding? I understand completely," Alex said. "I'm looking forward to prosecuting that bastard. If you still want to come over when you're all done, that'll be great."

"I might be very late," Olivia warned.

"I'm not planning on going to sleep anytime soon tonight," Alex replied, her voice sounding hollow. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a while after this day."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Ok, I'll see you later." When Olivia ended her call, she noticed a woman leaning wearily against a wall by the emergency room entranceway. When Olivia went over to the woman, she saw that she had been crying. "Excuse me, I'm Detective Benson. Do you need any help?"

The woman was in her thirties and well dressed. Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a bun. She pulled a sheet of paper from a pile that she had tucked under her arm. "I'm Maxine Chilton. I'm looking for my husband, Lawrence. He worked in the World trade Center, and I haven't been able to locate him. Can you help me?"

Olivia stared at the picture of a boyishly handsome man in a suit who smiled back at her. She reeled at the thought this man may well be dead. "Did you check with the hospital?"

"I just did, and they don't know anything," Maxine said anxiously. "One of the doctors told me that he would check for me, but that was twenty minutes ago. And I've been standing out here, and…and there haven't been any more people coming in for a while now! And…and I just hope…" Maxine burst into tears just then, and fell into Olivia's embrace.

She had instinctively wanted to tell Maxine that everything would be all right, but that felt like a lie. Olivia was unwilling to give false hope when she didn't feel very safe or optimistic herself tonight. So she simply held the weeping woman in her arms until a gray-haired doctor in surgical garb showed up with a nurse. They had good news: Maxine's husband was brought in unconscious with a broken leg. Lawrence Chilton had no ID on him when he was pulled out of the wreckage of the World Trade Center, but the doctor thought he recognized the picture Maxine had brought.

"He's resting comfortably upstairs," the doctor told Maxine. "The nurse will take you to see him."

Before Maxine left with the nurse, she reached out and squeezed Olivia's hand. "Thank you, Detective."

"I'm so glad it worked out for you," Olivia sincerely told her. After Maxine and the nurse left, she stood outside the ER entranceway with the doctor for a few moments. There were several dozen gurneys, all sitting empty and unused, by the main doors of the ER.

Olivia gestured at the gurneys and said, "She told me that you stopped getting new patients a while ago."

"We've been taking the critically injured off the hands of the hospitals in the downtown area all day. And after the initial flood of injuries from this morning and afternoon, we braced ourselves for a continuous onslaught of casualties, but they've stopped. It's been almost twelve hours since the Towers fell, and we haven't received any new wounded from Ground Zero."

The realization of what the doctor said hit Olivia like a sledgehammer. In most disasters, the casualties—the wounded and injured—almost always outnumbered the dead. But the lack of wounded could only mean that the death toll from Ground Zero was extremely high.

Olivia reeled from this revelation. When she saw the uniformed officers from the One-Six approach her, she said, "I gotta go."

The doctor nodded. "Yeah me too. Take care, Detective. Be safe."

Garrison was treated for the gash on his head and released into the custody of Olivia and her uniformed escort. Once they placed him in the lock up at the One-Six, Olivia went to her desk to write up her report. By the time she was finished, it was 11:30 in the evening. It wasn't as late as she had often worked in the past, but it was still early enough to pay a visit on Alex and see how she was doing.

Cragen accepted the report and congratulated her on the arrest. "I spoke with Cheryl Rothman's parents," he said. "They called from the hospital. I had the pleasure of telling them that the man who brutally assaulted their daughter was in custody, thanks to you. Great work, Olivia."

"It was just dumb luck," Olivia admitted. "I literally ran right into him on the street. I wasn't even out searching for him."

"Whatever it takes to close a case," Cragen told her, "we'll take it. Now why don't you get out of here? Take tomorrow off. In fact, you may want to consider taking the next few days off. Like I told Munch earlier, the usual business has been put on hold for a while."

"I will." Before he could turn to leave, Olivia gently touched his arm. "How are you doing, Cap?"

Cragen smiled faintly. "You must be the twentieth person to ask me that today. I'm fine, Liv, really. I'm gonna head home soon as well. Thanks for your concern."

While Olivia retrieved her personal items from her locker for the second time that day, a visitor entered the SVU squad room. It was Thomas Rothman, the father of Cheryl Rothman, the rape victim.

She nodded her head in greeting at the man. "Hello, Mr. Rothman, I'm Detective Benson."

Rothman was a tall man in his late fifties with thinning hair that was mostly gray. He grabbed Olivia's hand and shook it profusely. "You're the one who caught him? Thank you, thank you so much"

"Mr. Rothman, please, have a seat" Olivia gestured to a chair by her desk. "How is Cheryl doing?"

"Better" he said. "She is very strong. My wife is still with her now; she told me to go back to the hotel and get some sleep, but when I heard you caught him, I just wanted to meet with you, to thank you. After all that's happened today, with all of these terrible attacks, I thought…" Rothman appeared to be fighting back tears. "I thought Cheryl would be forgotten."

"Never" Olivia firmly told him. "That would never happen, Mr. Rothman."

"What you did, by capturing that animal, you've restored my faith in the human race" Rothman said, his voice breaking. "You're an angel, Detective Benson."

Olivia felt her face begin to blush with embarrassment. "No sir, I'm not. I was just doing my job."

"I beg to differ. Will you come see Cheryl soon? She would really like to thank you in person."

"Of course, I will."

**Alex Cabot's Apartment  
12:35 AM  
September 12, 2001**

When the elevator doors opened on Alex's floor, Olivia saw that Alex was waiting for her in the hallway. Barefoot, she wore a casual outfit of sweatpants and a lime green t-shirt with "Cancun" written vertically in yellow on one side. She looked as if she had been crying. As soon as Olivia stepped off of the elevator, she and Alex embraced tightly.

"How are you, kid?' Olivia whispered into Alex's ear.

"Better, now that you're here," she replied.

When they broke their embrace, Olivia asked, "Did you get through to your mother, yet?"

"Yeah, I finally was able to reach her about a half hour ago," Alex said, as they entered her apartment. "She wants me to come up to the house for a few days."

"That sounds like a great idea," Olivia said, as she strode into the living room. "It would probably be best to get out of—" It suddenly dawned on Olivia that she was alone. "Alex? Where are you?"

When she stepped back into the foyer, she found Alex slumped up against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Liv, I can't…I can't stop crying…."

"Come here," Olivia murmured, as she hugged Alex tightly once more.

"I feel so stupid," Alex said in-between sobs, "bawling like a baby all the time."

As tears welled up in her eyes, and with her voice breaking with emotion, Olivia said, "You go right ahead and cry, Alex, because I'm about to join you."

Two hours later, they were curled up on the sofa. Their wine glasses sat half full on the coffee table in front of them. The TV was left on, with the sound shut off, but Olivia was so busy laughing uproariously that she barely noticed it. "God, Alex, that is just hysterical."

"And you know Abbie," Alex said, still giggling. "You know how she doesn't suffer fools gladly, right? So as soon as she said that, the poor shopkeeper started backing away from her with this meek little look like, 'don't kill me! Don't kill me!' He then told us that we could stay as long as we wanted!"

Olivia fell back on the sofa as she burst into another fit of giggles. She almost accidentally knocked over the bottle of wine with her bare foot. "Oh, jeez!" she said, sitting up quickly and pushing the bottle out of harm's way from the edge of the table. "Oh, Abbie…God bless her. I should really give her a call sometime. I haven't spoken to her in—"

She glanced over and saw that Alex's laughter had instantly vanished once she caught sight of the TV. Olivia's humorous mood also melted away as she watched images from Ground Zero. One picture that haunted her was that of several huge shafts of metal that were splayed up from the ground, looking like great metallic fingers that reached upward through the smoky night sky. Olivia let out a gasp when she realized she had been looking at what was once the main entrance to one of the Twin Towers.

Unable to watch any more, Olivia glanced down at the floor, feeling the tears welling up once again. 'Hold it together,' she ordered herself. 'Keep it together for Alex.'

She glanced up when she felt Alex gently rub her shoulder.

"I'm sorry if this is depressing you, Liv. I'll shut it off." She reached for the TV remote.

"No, it's ok," Olivia told her. "Please leave it on. It doesn't seem right to shut it off. If we turn it off, we'd be ignoring it—we'd be ignoring what's happening at Ground Zero—and that would be wrong." She shook her head. "I know that must sound crazy, but…."

"On the contrary, it makes perfect sense," Alex said with a nod. She stared thoughtfully at the TV, and then added, "You know, Liv, you and I see a lot of horrors every single day in our jobs." She gestured at the TV. "But this…all this death and devastation…it makes me wonder, where do we all go from here? How the hell do we even begin to absorb this"

Olivia instantly recalled the words that Gail Monroe told her back in the hospital, and she now realized why she thought of that extraordinary woman on this dark day. "We must move on, Alex" she said softly. "We will remember those who were lost—we will never forget them—but life is for the living, and as hard as it may be, we eventually will go on. We owe it to all of the victims."

**The End**

**Author's note:** I would like to thank all of you who took the time to write reviews concerning this story. I appreciate all of them, both the praise, as well as the constructiveciticism. I would also like to thank my friend John for reading the first draft of this story and giving me some greatadvice. And if you have discovered this story here in its completed form, then please feel free to give your comments; I always look forward to reading them.

-Sean


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